Could they not go faster?
Faster. Faster.
The time was going and any moment it might be too late.
LXIII
SUDDENLY, walking along a blank long wall they came to a gateway flanked by sentry boxes, and the bearers set down the chairs.
Waddington hurried up to Kitty.
She had already jumped out.
The officer knocked loudly on the door and shouted. A postern* was opened and they passed into a courtyard.
It was large and square.
Huddled against the walls, under the eaves of the overhanging roofs, soldiers wrapped in their blankets were lying in huddled groups.
They stopped for a moment while the officer spoke to a man who might have been a sergeant on guard.
He turned and said something to Waddington.
"He's still alive," said Waddington in a low voice. "Take care how you walk."
Still preceded by the men with lanterns they made their way across the yard, up some steps, through a great doorway and then down into another wide court.
On one side of this was a long chamber with lights in it; the lights within shining through the rice paper, silhouetted the elaborate pattern of the lattice.
The lantern-bearers led them across the yard towards this room and at the door the officer knocked.
It was opened immediately and the officer, with a glance at Kitty, stepped back.
"Will you walk in," said Waddington.
It was a long, low room and the smoky lamps that lit it made the gloom ominous. Three or four orderlies stood about.
On a pallet against the wall opposite the door a man was lying huddled under a blanket.
An officer was standing motionless at the foot.
Kitty hurried up and leaned over the pallet.
Walter lay with his eyes closed and in that sombre light his face had the greyness of death.
He was horribly still.
"Walter, Walter," she gasped, in a low, terrified tone.
There was a slight movement in the body, or the shadow of a movement; it was so slight it was like a breath of air which you cannot feel and yet for an instant ruffles the surface of still water.
"Walter, Walter, speak to me."
The eyes were opened slowly, as though it were an infinite effort to raise those heavy lids, but he did not look, he stared at the wall a few inches from his face.
He spoke; his voice, low and weak, had the hint of a smile in it.
"This is a pretty kettle of fish," he said.
Kitty dared not breathe.
He made no further sound, no beginning of a gesture, but his eyes, those dark, cold eyes of his (seeing now what mysteries?) stared at the whitewashed wall.
Kitty raised herself to her feet. With haggard gaze she faced the man who stood there.
"Surely something can be done.
You're not going to stand there and do nothing?"
She clasped her hands.
Waddington spoke to the officer who stood at the end of the bed.
"I'm afraid they've done everything that was possible.
The regimental surgeon has been treating him.
Your husband has trained him and he's done all that your husband could do himself."
"Is that the surgeon?"
"No, that is Colonel Y #252;.
He's never left your husband's side."
Distracted, Kitty gave him a glance.
He was a tallish man, but stockily built, and he seemed ill at ease in his khaki uniform.
He was looking at Walter and she saw that his eyes were wet with tears.
It gave her a pang.
Why should that man with his yellow, flat face have tears in his eyes?
It exasperated her.
"It's awful to be able to do nothing."